


Someone Explain, Please?

by ryan_the_baby_idiot



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, lets go, love potion, yes we are doing this, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 09:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18178913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryan_the_baby_idiot/pseuds/ryan_the_baby_idiot
Summary: When the very concept of fate is tired of your shit, you know you're in trouble.Enjolras has traced the culprit back to the wine they'd all been drinking... Why was it Enjolras who figured it out? Because everyone else involved was very busy being head over heels in love with him.Well... everyone except one other person.





	Someone Explain, Please?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by: http://ophiliad.tumblr.com/post/158139681156/ive-been-thinking-about-that-a-spell-makes

_You guys are boring as hell._

_It wasn't the nicest thing she'd ever done, spiking an innocent group's drinks, but man, she'd seen so many revolutions come and go. She liked these boys, and maybe some chaos would drive their attention away from the cause leading them to their deaths._

_And, why not admit it, it would probably be absolutely hilarious to watch it all unfold._

_Their leader was a man named Enjolras, correct? Angelically beautiful, kind, and above all, passionate to a fault? Sounds like the perfect person to make eight boys fall in love with. Their wine would carry the potion, their drinks would take them into the synthetic lovesickness._

_She laughed, casting the easy spell. Have fun~_

 

\--------

 

They had parties sometimes, when they were particularly productive that day. It was honestly counter-intuitive, since it caused every one of them (with the exception of the ever sober Enjolras, of course) to be entirely unproductive the next morning. 

This morning, though, hangovers from the previous day's chaos didn't seem to be an issue in the slightest. However, there was a different problem. 

"What are we doing today, Enjolras?" 

"Are you going to give one of your impassioned speeches today, Enjolras? I'd just love to hear one!" 

"Do you want anything, Enjolras?" 

_"Enjolras?"_

On the bright side, it was easy to send all the lovesick revolutionaries on any task he could think of so he could investigate. 

It took some time, only lengthened by his having to periodically make up new tasks so he'd be left alone. But he'd deduced enough to realize that this sudden phenomenon had something to do with the wine. It was all consistent--the more one had to drink, the more bizarre they were acting. Well, with the exception of Marius, who drank very little and acted the oddest of them all, but he was such a lightweight he could hardly be counted. Based on how they were behaving, Enjolras had to guess it was some kind of love potion, which was apparently becoming a nearly regular occurrence around town. Enjolras never suspected it'd happen to them, but he was now faced to confront it. 

He almost groaned out loud when he realized just how much Grantaire had drank. Horrendously late as always, he hadn't yet appeared, but Enjolras was sure he'd be a hell to deal with once he did. He decided, though, to stop making up tasks and let the Amis crowd him. At least he had their undivided attention. Maybe, he could actually use this to his advantage--surely, they wouldn't discount his ideas at all while in this state. 

It was at that moment that the door swung open. And there was Grantaire, gripping an empty bottle that he'd no doubt brought from home. He glanced around the room, eyes lingering on Enjolras just a little longer than on anyone else, and continued on his way over to the counter, where he dropped the bottle and grabbed a new one. He opened it, took a drink, grinned, and took his seat in the back. Just like always. "No impassioned speeches today, Enjolras?" And that, too, was a perfectly normal thing for him to say. 

He was acting no different than his usual annoying self. 

Enjolras was so relieved he wouldn't have to deal with an obsessive Grantaire, he didn't even process how bizarre it was. "Yes, we still have to be productive today. I know you couldn't care less about this revolution, but could you please just show up on time or not bother at all?" 

"'Fraid I can't do that, my friend." His voice was loud, sarcastic, and just as teasing as ever. Good. Well, not good at all, but better than the alternative. 

"Alright, everyone please sit down?" And of course, they did, even faster than usual. As Enjolras jumped up onto his favorite table for motivating Les Amis, he noticed eight pairs of eyes trained on him, waiting to inhale every word. And, in the back, Grantaire, who watched him as well, with the same irritation and mocking intensity. 

Was it mocking? 

He began. Enjolras talked about the injustices of the class system, the rampant poverty in the streets, the oppression inflicted by the bourgeoisie, and finally, how it was their duty to stand up against it. Standard stuff, really. Grantaire refused to believe it, but Enjolras didn't give these speeches because he loved the attention. He wanted to see the (admittedly) small crowd's eyes light up with passion. He wanted to head out and bring about the next wave of progress over this country. 

Granted, he knew it was a long shot, but what does skepticism get you? Nothing but misery. 

Speaking of skepticism... 

"And how, pray tell, do you suggest we do that?" 

Enjolras glared back at him. With everyone else so focused on his words, no one dared speak except the prick in the back of the room. "Maybe you'd know if you bothered to listen to anything I say." 

"I listen to everything you say." 

Enjolras jumped down from his table, satisfied enough with the effect his speech seemed to have had. "Stay here." He commanded the tiny crowd. They obeyed. He moved directly to the back of the room. "Please stop interrupting me. I know you don't care about anything," he spat the words out, trying to communicate how much he disapproved of that cynical attitude, "but not everyone thinks that way. We're trying to actually do something meaningful. Please stop hindering us." He began to turn, but Grantaire began to speak before he could. 

"Yeah, yeah... By the way, what's up with your valiant revolutionaries today? They look a little woozy." 

Enjolras sighed. "You know how everyone keeps hearing about these love potions? I think someone spiked the drinks last night. Luckily, from what I've heard, it only lasts about twenty-four hours, so it should be back to normal tomorrow." 

Grantaire stared, teasing grin wiped from his face. "A... love potion? Like, one that makes people fall in love with... you?" 

"Yeah, guess so. By the way, didn't you drink the most last night? Why aren't you affected at all?" Enjolras's irritation began to shift to anger as Grantaire once again began to take a drink. "And could you _put the bottle down_ for just one conversation?" 

"Yup, uh..." Grantaire held up a finger, indicating 'hold on a moment', and began to drink, downing nearly the rest of the bottle in one go. Finally, he set it down, having never broken eye contact with a fuming Enjolras. "Yeah, uh, I have no idea why it didn't work on me." 

"Did you drink the same wine as everyone else?" 

"Uh, yeah. Even shared a bottle with Courf." 

" _Why?_ "

"He didn't want the rest! He drank half of it, that was all he had the whole night I think, and then gave it to me." 

"So you  _definitely_ had some of the potion." 

"Sure, I guess?" Grantaire shrugged. "Maybe I've just built up a resistance to that kind of stuff. You know." He held up the bottle and shook it a little. "Because I drink  _soooo_ much?" 

Enjolras attempted to grab the bottle from his hands, but Grantaire was too quick. He did, though, quickly pull the top off and drink the last of it before tossing the bottle back to the counter. He missed, and it fell to the ground, shattering on impact. Enjolras's head fell, exasperated. 

"Fuck, didn't mean to do that." 

"Grantaire, you cannot become resistant to potions by becoming resistant to alcohol. It doesn't work that way. Plus," he gestured vaguely to Grantaire's entire being, "you aren't resistant to alcohol. Clearly." 

Grantaire scowled, but it was far from genuine. 

"So you aren't going to give me a reason why you are completely unaffected by this incredibly powerful potion that has basically incapacitated the rest of the ABC?" 

"I don't have an answer for you, 'pollo." 

Enjolras placed his hands on the small table. He had to lean forward to do so. "Well then." He kept his voice soft, albeit threatening and with thinly veiled rage obvious in his voice and expression. "Why don't you help me deal with these guys who  _were_ affected?"

Grantaire quickly took note and then took advantage of the small space between them. “Oh, certainly.” He grinned, leaning forward as if to challenge Enjolras. _I’m not intimidated by closeness._ Enjolras held eye contact for a few moments before giving up and falling backward. Grantaire did the same. “What do you want _me_ to do, though? You’re the one they’re all in love with. You’re the one they’ll listen to.”

Enjolras sighed. “Maybe.” He glanced around the room of useless revolutionaries. “Fine. Everyone? You can all go home for today.” Immediately came the wave of protests. Apparently, they wouldn’t follow everything he said blindly. That made sense—they weren’t robots, they were infatuated. They’d follow his words to a point to win his favor, but they were still people with free will.

Enjolras decided that a little bit of affection might just sway them. A hug there, a kiss on the cheek there—maybe a “won’t you go home for today? For me?” to top it off. It worked far too well.

Grantaire was stewing, ever silently. During the commotion he was able to obtain a new drink, but Enjolras caught on too fast and managed to grab it away before Grantaire could get even one mouthful. Everything about the situation was infuriating.

“Yeah, maybe I could go home too.”

“Huh?” Enjolras had just gotten a protesting Joly out the door.  “How come? I was thinking maybe I could go over some of my plans, and you, uh…” He paused, realizing he had nothing more to say. “I don’t know. You like being here, right? Why else would you stick around for a cause you don’t believe in…”

Enjolras cut himself off.  Grantaire studied his face, fully and agonizingly aware that Enjolras was putting all of the puzzle pieces together. Why Grantaire never failed to arrive at the Musain every single day despite not believing in the revolution, the only possible explanation as to why he was unaffected by the potion, why he always teased and quarreled with Enjolras in such a unique way compared to how he talked to the other Les Amis. Oh. _Oh._

“Oh.” He was halfway through the motion of picking up his notebook, which was filled with plans, intricate maps, and random ideas he’d gotten throughout the day. “Grantaire…”

“So, as I was saying, I’m going to leave too, if everyone else did.” Grantaire glanced up at Enjolras, meeting the pitiful and slightly shocked eyes of his closest friend. The pity that he saw angered him. “God, E, can I have the wine back?”

Enjolras had been silenced. It was the first time that either could remember in which he was speechless.  "Okay. Fine.” He handed it over. Grantaire grabbed for it a little too eagerly, bringing it to his lips even faster than usual.

“Alright, thanks. See you tomorrow, uh… see you tomorrow.”  It seemed as though he might have been about to say Enjolras’s name at the end of that sentence—or maybe even one of his nicknames, like ‘E’, or even ‘Apollo’—but had evidently decided against it. Instead, he took one more drink, and was out the door.

Enjolras was stunned. Sure, he’d always been quite dense in romantic contexts, but it shocked him that he’d never even considered this possibility. Grantaire, the skeptic, the man who believed in nothing. Had Enjolras really believed that he stuck around out of sheer boredom, nothing to fill his days with except tormenting a local revolutionary? That was absurd. He sat down, regardless, and a nearby table. Since the ABC were the main occupants of the café at most all times, it was now deserted.

He had his notepad. He began to flip through it.

No, he couldn’t leave it like this. Who was he kidding? Enjolras hid the notebook again in its designated spot (you could never be too careful!) and took off out the door. Where had he gone? Enjolras had no idea. He was running down city streets, moving in the vague direction of where he was pretty sure Grantaire lived. He wasn’t even sure.

Finally, he arrived at the small collection of temporary houses he was semi-confident Grantaire lived in. Which one, though? He had no idea, but finally was lucky enough to see him walking slowly down the street, bottle still in hand. He looked like someone you’d avoid on the street—chronically disheveled, directionless, and, of course, intoxicated. “ _Grantaire!_ ” He turned, eyes widening when he say Enjolras sprinting-no, he’d slowed down to disguise his urgency. He was… speed walking with obvious urgency) towards him.

“Enjolras, please.” Grantaire was doing his best to keep a teasing tone in his voice. It would, at least, disguise his nerves. “You don’t have to c—“

Enjolras, though, wasn’t going to play along. He cut Grantaire off by taking his hand and beginning to speak in short gasps (he may be passionate and ambitious, but running was not his strong suit) “Why didn’t you say anything to me… you asshole! You just… _god,_ R! Just pr… promise me you’ll come back to the Musain tomorrow! I can’t…” Still out of breath, Enjolras gasped, to finish the next sentence in one. “I know that you’re a skeptic and always, what, drunk or sad or whatever you  _are,_ and you say how you don't want us to die and be gone and I just need you to promise you'll come back tomorrow." He paused. Grantaire stared. It was his turn, now, to be shocked into silence for the first time in his memory. "Okay?" 

"Yeah. I'll be back tomorrow." He grinned. "Apollo." 

"Wait, do you call me that because--" 

"Yup." 

"Oh, my god, R, I'm going home. See you tomorrow." 

And this time, they were both smiling. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."


End file.
